Page 42 of Count My Lies

When, finally, Nolan swivels the chair and I see myself in the mirror, I put my hand to my mouth, lean toward my reflection. I’m gone. At least, the me that walked in here two hours ago. Goodbye, Sloanie, Sloanie, full of baloney. He’s fixed the color so it’s a deep, rich brown, almost golden under the salon lights. It’s as shiny as Violet’s, glossy and smooth. I turn my head to the left, then the right. It’s shorter, another inch gone, just brushing my shoulders, with bangs like hers, framing my face.

“Do you like it?” Nolan asks. He takes a hand and runs his fingers through my hair, shaking out the waves. “You look gorgeous.”

I nod, speechless. Gingerly, I reach up and touch it. The strands are soft to the touch, silk-spun.

Violet bends down next to me, so her face is next to mine. “We look like twins!” she says excitedly.

She’s right, we do look similar, now that our hair is the same color, the same length, with the same bangs falling into our eyes. Pleasure bubbles up in my stomach. I had no idea I could look like this. Like her.

With my shorter hair, my eyes seem bigger, cheekbones higher. Somehow, my skin looks better, too. I used the acne cream last night, spreading a thin film of it over my face before bed; the smattering of pimples on my chin has already gotten smaller. I can’t stop staring. Or smiling. I wonder what Jay will think when he sees me.

Nolan walks us to the front of the salon. He gives both of us a hug goodbye. “Thank you,” I keep saying to him, and he squeezes my hands before he leaves, smiling.

The receptionist, young and dewy-faced, smiles and asks how everything was. “Great,” I say. “Really great.” I reach into my purse, looking for my wallet. I brace myself for the bill.

“No, no,” Violet says, pushing my hand away. “It’s my treat.”

I look at her in surprise. “What, no, you don’t have to do that!”

“I know. I want to. It was my suggestion, so I’m paying.”

As she takes her credit card out, handing it to the person behind the counter, something else comes out with it, flutters to the floor. It’s a business card. Violet doesn’t seem to notice, so I reach down to pick it up. When I see what it’s for, my breath catches. Suddenly, I have trouble swallowing.

Is it—? Yes, it is. I lose feeling in my fingers. It’s a card for Rose & Honey. Why was it in Violet’s wallet? Has she been in? The thought gives me heart palpitations, makes me want to throw up. She hadn’t seen me there—had she?

When I look up, still crouching, both Violet and the receptionist are staring down at me. “Are you okay?” Violet asks. Her forehead is creased with worry.

My head bobbles up and down weakly. “Yeah, sorry. Here.” I stand, offering her the card. “This fell out of your purse.” The words stick in my throat like flies to a flytrap, their legs bonded to the gluey paper. I sound froggish, voice thick.

“Oh, thanks,” Violet says, taking it from me. She glances at it, then tucks it back into her wallet.

“Have you been?” I hear myself ask in that same congealed voice.

“Where?” Her brow wrinkles.

“To that spa. On the card…” I can’t bring myself to say the name.

“Oh, no,” she says, shaking her head. “Not yet. Have you? One of the moms at Harper’s school recommended it to me.” Her face is open, innocent.

She hasn’t been in. I breathe out. She hasn’t been in. But—someone else from Mockingbird has. Maybe the same person who recommended it to Allison. Maybe that’s why she made an appointment. But who? I would have recognized any of the mothers had they been in, especially if they came in often enough to recommend it.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Violet asks. “You’re looking a little green.”

“Oh yeah, I’m fine.” I shake my head. “Maybe it’s just the fumes from the hair dye. I do feel a little high,” I say, trying to sound like I’m not on the verge of a meltdown. “And it’s been a long time since Iwas stoned at three in the afternoon. Not since college.” I force a little laugh.

Violet laughs, too, then she links her arm through mine. “Then let’s get out of here. Maybe we should go shopping! A new outfit to go with your new hair.” She starts to steer me toward the door.

I smile back. I want to, I really do, but seeing that card has left me uneasy, the floor quaking beneath my feet. I want to reach out, steady myself. It’s stupid what I’m doing. I forgot how small this neighborhood is, how routine to cross paths with people you know. I often ran into the parents of my students on the weekend, at the market, restaurant patios, on the sidewalk. Someone could see us together, someone from Mockingbird. It hadn’t occurred to me until now. If they did, my cover would be blown. This life I’ve built would crumble. I have to be more careful. I should go home.

“Violet, I—” I start to say, but stop, catching sight of the two of us in a mirror on the salon wall.

The resemblance is uncanny. We look so much alike. Like twins, just like Violet said. Our matching sunburst necklaces catch the light, glint. Maybe, I think, the idea of us being sisters really isn’t that far-fetched. Stranger things have happened. Just last week I read an article about triplet brothers, separated at birth, who ended up at the same college.

“You know what,” Violet says. “I have an even better idea. Come back to my house instead. I have a few things that I think will fit you perfectly. I won’t take no for an answer.”

I look from the mirror to Violet, her face open and eager, as familiar to me as my own. I smile back. If anyone from Mockingbird sees me, they’ll have no idea who I am. “Okay,” I say. “Let’s go.”

Sloanie, Sloanie, full of baloney is gone.

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